


We're Gonna Have Sex, Aren't We

by arlenejp



Series: Which Way Do You Want It [1]
Category: Fleabag, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-05 17:18:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19044889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: A priest and a consulting detective. Mischief thrives!!!





	We're Gonna Have Sex, Aren't We

**Author's Note:**

> A certain scene from Fleabag inspired this fic.

This is a first time for me as a priest! Officiating at a same-sex wedding!

Edgar Robertson and Jeremy Clark are both are in their fifties and have been a couple for over twenty years. They want to make it official.  
Edgar has been a long-time parishioner, but I've never met his future husband.

I'm in their house where a simple ceremony is about to take place with only Jeremy's sisters, and a smattering of friends present.  
Moving from foot to foot, I listen to a boring account of the tribulations of Mrs. Windemeres second marriage break up.

"Hello, Reverend Brook," his voice burns into my soul.  
His hand lightly rests on my shoulder, imprinting through the fabric, a heat, a pinpoint of desire.  
Pivoting, I view the face of a man I had hoped not to see again but yet craved almost nightly in my dreams.

"Well, well. It's the great consulting detective Sherlock Holmes! What brings you to this festive occasion?"  
"Jeremy was once a client of mine," and squeezing my shoulder he takes off in another direction.  
I'm gulping, twisting my hands, emotion overtaking me.

The last time we met, it was in my church.  
So, so close to sinning, to copulating on the church floor.  
Lucky for me, he scrambled to the side door and exited.  
My legs shaking, I sank to the floor, praying. It was as much my fault as his. I wanted him.

Still do.

During the ceremony my eyes continually stray to him, in the back of the room, hands folded demurely in front.  
It's all over, the ceremonial kiss done, pictures snapped--and I have to pee.  
Weaving my way around people, I step to the bathroom and close the door.

Zipping up, I open the door and give out a strangled laugh, startled.  
Sherlock is leaning against the wall, cup and a saucer extended in his hand.  
"Thought you might enjoy some tea," his voice low.  
The air crackles, the space between us percolates.  
My heart skitters, my body throbs.  
He bends down, laying the cupful on the carpet.

I watch, mesmerized as his body lifts, his eyes on my quivering legs, my thighs, my--.  
Up and up until--his hazel eyes confront mine, openly acknowledging--.  
His fingers slide into mine, and I trail behind, stealing down the hallway.  
With a sweep of his hand, he ushers me into a bedroom.  
I say out loud, more to the air than him," we're gonna have sex, aren't we?"


End file.
